


The Shadow

by Maeve_of_Winter



Series: The Caustic Ticking of the Clock [3]
Category: The Trixie Belden Mysteries - Julie Campbell Tatham & Kathryn Kenny
Genre: Death of a Female OC, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-17
Updated: 2016-09-17
Packaged: 2018-08-15 14:13:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8059426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maeve_of_Winter/pseuds/Maeve_of_Winter
Summary: The town of Sleepyside gathers for Esther's funeral. Written for14 Jixanny CWP





	

The shrill buzzing of her phone alarm throws Monica Andersen out of sleep. Fumbling for the device, she quickly enters the passcode and ends the alert function.

Once the alarm is off, Monica lies in bed and stares up at the ceiling. She needs to get out of bed. She needs to get ready for Esther’s funeral.

But she’s damn tired; her head aches with weariness, and her muscles are already stiff and tense. She just doesn’t want to leave her bed.

Pulling her duvet over her shoulders, Monica rolls back over, burying her face in the pillow. But only a few minutes pass before her mother barges into her room, switching on the lights.

“Monica, you have to wake up and start getting ready,” her mother orders.

“Mom, I don’t want to go,” Monica says miserably.

Still facing the other way, Monica feels the mattress dip as her mother sits down on the side of the bed.

“Oh, sweetheart,” her mother says, softening. “I know you’re upset. It can’t be easy to lose one of your friends.”

Sitting up, Monica turns to look at her mother. “I can’t go to the funeral. It’s just . . . logically, I know Esther’s dead. I know she’s gone. But I don’t want to be there when they eulogize her. I don’t want to watch her family lay flowers on her coffin. I just want to pretend for a little while longer that she could still be alive.”

Her mother grasps one of her hands and squeezes. “I know it hurts, Monica, and I’m sorry, honey. I really am sorry that you lost your friend. But think of Mr. and Mrs. Kerioth. You lost a friend, but they lost a child. And you need to come with us to the funeral and support them.”

Monica doesn’t reply, but her headache worsens significantly.

Her mother rises. “So, then, chop-chop!” She gives a short clap of her hands. “Your brother has woken up and is getting ready, and knowing Dave, he’ll use all the hot water if you don’t shower before him.”

With that, her mother sashays out of the room, and Monica burrows back beneath the blankets.

* * *

 

Black suit, black shoes, navy shirt, but what color tie should he choose? Cain Carcer ponders his options for a moment. Black is the obvious option, but maybe he should go for another color, one that’s still subdued, like gray. Then again, gray is boring. Would it be tacky to go for a dark blue tie, when his shirt is already the darkest possible blue?

Cain’s musings are interrupted by the vibrating of his cell phone. His father is calling.

“Hello?” Cain rolls his eyes as he answers.

“I’m just calling to see how you’re doing,” Adam tells him. “You’re still going to the funeral with the Gentrys?”

“Yes,” Cain responds testily. “That hasn’t changed since I spoke with you last night.”

A brief pause. Then, his father asks, “You’re not at the funeral now, are you?”

“For God’s sake, no.” Cain resists the urge to grind his teeth. “If I were, I wouldn’t have answered my phone.”

“Well, you’ll want to turn off your phone once you’re there,” his father instructs.

“Thanks for the advice,” Cain bites out. “I’ve got to go. Richard and his parents are here.” He hangs up, glancing at the phone’s clock. In reality, Richard isn’t going to be here for at least another fifteen minutes.

With a sigh, Cain grabs the black tie and proceeds to wrap it around his throat.

* * *

 

“Do I look like a slut?” Greta Reinhardt asks the moment she opens the door to Alexandria’s Audi.

Glancing up from scrolling through her phone, Alexandria St. Wolfgang arches a fine eyebrow. “No. I think that dress is perfectly presentable for a funeral. Why?”

Greta shrugs. “My parents made some remarks. No big deal.”

Turning the keys in the ignition, Alexandria starts on the route to the church, offering no comment.

“What’s on your mind?” Greta asks curiously.

“My speech for the service,” Alexandria replies swiftly. “As the president of the junior class at Sleepyside Junior-Senior High, I normally wouldn’t be expected to speak. However, the senior class president is out of town at the moment, and I feel that it is my duty to step in and properly memorialize Esther Kerioth.”

Pained at her own inquisitiveness, Greta grimaces. Normally, she at once admired and envied the various organizational positions Alexandria held, as well as the ease and strength with which she governed. But at the moment, she doesn’t feel jealous at all.

* * *

 

Another whine interrupts Sunny Constantinos as he continues to eat his granola, and a paw nudges at his thigh.

“I think Chewie wants some of your breakfast,” Nico, his seven-year-old sister, informs him, watching their pitbull beg for table scraps.

Chewie gives them both a winning doggy smile.

“No doubt, but he’s not getting it,” Sunny replies. “He’s already had his own food. He doesn’t need anything else.”

Christopher, Nico’s father and Sunny and Zephyr’s stepfather, rushes into the kitchen and grabs a mug for coffee. “Sunny, have you seen my cufflinks? The ones with the silver knots?”

“Zephyr has them,” Sunny replies.

“Why on earth would Zephyr—” Christopher shakes his head. “You know what? Never mind. Thank you, Sunny.”

“Want me to make you some breakfast?” Sunny offers.

“Why don’t you wear those jewel cufflinks you got from your uncle?” Nico asks her father.

“That would be great, Sunny, thanks,” Christopher answers. “And Nico, those emerald cufflinks I inherited are very nice, but today isn’t the right occasion to wear them. Actually, why don’t you go upstairs and check with your mom to make sure you’re completely ready to go, okay?”

Nico obeys, leaving the room, her black patent leather shoes clicking on the tile, just as Zephyr wanders in.

“I can’t find my black suit jacket,” he reports haplessly. “Do you think it would bad form to wear a blue one instead?”

“Definitely,” Sunny affirms as he starts preparing a quiche in a mug. “How the hell do you keep losing them? You must have at least three. But just borrow one of mine if you can’t find yours.”

“Zephyr, where are my silver knot cufflinks?” Christopher questions.

“In my sock drawer, still in their box,” Zephyr answers promptly, and Christopher rushes to the stairs.

“Oh, hey, breakfast.” Zephyr sidles up beside Sunny at the counter. “Can I have some?”

“Sure, why not,” Sunny says in a tone befitting a martyr like himself. “But I want you to understand that I’m not making you food out of the kindness of my heart. I’m just doing it so you won’t interrupt the funeral with your bitching about being hungry. You want breakfast? Next time, turn on the goddamn stove.”

At the word “breakfast,” Chewie charges over to where they’re standing. He parks his sturdy body right by Sunny’s feet, in an optimal position to devour any fallen food.

“Can Chupacabra have some, too?” Kneeling down, Zephyr manipulates one of Chewie’s paws to mimic a waving motion at Sunny.

“No,” Sunny says flatly. “Either go find your jacket, or get mine. Also, I'll never let go of how stupid of a name that is for a dog.”

“Who would have guessed, with how you go on about it all the time?” Zephyr returns archly.

Their mother calls down the stairs. “Ten minute warning, everyone!”

“I've never been to a Protestant funeral before,” Zephyr says to Sunny.

“You wouldn't have.” Sunny brings the mugs to the microwave. “Most of our relatives are Greek Orthodox, especially the older ones.”

“What was Dad’s funeral like?” Zephyr asks suddenly.

The question brings Sunny to visibly blanch, but he ensures his voice is steady when he replies. “That topic is off the table for right now, and don’t you _dare_ bring that up in front of Mom or Christopher. Literally ask about anything else.”

“Will Esther's casket be open?” Zephyr wonders.

Sunny sends him a disbelieving look as he punches the settings into the microwave keypad. “Jesus, Zephyr, no. Think about it. Esther was in the water _overnight_.”

Several seconds pass as Zephyr absorbs this statement.

“Oh,” he says finally.

* * *

 

Just as Patrick Moran is pulling on his suit jacket, his wife returns to their bedroom, making a beeline for their closet.

“Have you seen my black silk scarf?” Lucy asks him, rummaging through the hangers. “I want to give for Maureen to wear. That girl is growing like a weed— the only dress that won't be too short on her now is her powder blue one. I wish she had told me earlier. I would have bought that beanpole something more suitable to wear. I'm hoping if she has a black cardigan and black stockings, the color won't be too noticeable, but the scarf will help.”

“Haven't seen seen it,” Patrick says curtly.

Lucy turns to him. “You all right, Pat?”

Patrick sighs wearily. “I can't stop thinking about this death, Lucy. I know I should be able to put it behind me, but I'd forgotten how hard it is to tell parents their child is dead.”

“Oh, Pat.” Lucy embraces him. “I know how worried the accident has made you.”

“That’s the worst part in this whole mess,” Patrick says wearily. “That's it's an accident. And look at how fast it happened. Just past four o'clock, Matthew and Madeline Wheeler saw Esther walking by their property. About twenty minutes later, a motorist sees her near Killifish Point. Then her body washes up on Croton Point Beach, and her backpack is found in one of the streams off of Saw Mill River.” He exhales heavily. “It just makes me think how quick death can be, how easy it is to lose someone.”

“It’s so tragic to think about,” Lucy says empathetically. “Especially because the only reason she was by the water was for a class project.”

“I’ll never forget the look on Miriam Kerioth’s face when she opened her front door and saw me standing there in my police chief uniform.” Patrick shakes his head. “To think I was at some society luncheon when my officers were investigating the scene.”

“It’s not your fault for not being there, Pat,” Lucy consoles him. “And besides, even if you were the first person to get to the beach, what could you have done? You still would have had to tell the Kerioths about their daughter.”

With a nod of agreement, Patrick takes a final look at himself in the mirror. “I’m finished. Once you find that scarf for Maureen, we’ll be ready to go.”

“Here we go.” Lucy withdraws the clothing article from her bureau. “In my sweater pile whole time! All right, let’s head out to the car.”

They head downstairs, calling out for their children to join them, only to find them waiting by the door. Maureen, tall and graceful, is a freshman, while Lochlan, or just Loch, is a cheerful and hardworking junior. God, Patrick can’t believe how fast all of them have grown up— right now, their brother and his oldest, Finnegan, is almost finished with his first year of college.

Lucy promptly drapes the scarf over Maureen’s shoulders and starts to fret, but Maureen gently bats her away.

“Come on, Mom, don’t fuss,” she protests.

Nudging him with an elbow, Loch catches his father’s attention. “Doing all right, Dad?”

“Fine,” Patrick returns somberly.  “Let’s all just get through today, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Loch claps his father on the back. “We’ll be okay, Dad.”

Patrick doesn’t answer, because in his mind, he can only replay the scene of himself walking to the door and seeing Mrs. Kerioth’s face.

* * *

 

The funeral is held at the church where Esther’s father is pastor. She’s buried in the adjoining cemetery, and because of the amount of parishioners in attendance, the reception takes place in one of the church’s social halls.

“Did Esther really want to major in biblical studies?” Kingston Wright asks skeptically.

“I dunno.” Michael Larson frowns. “But I thought I once heard her talking about wanting to major in biology at college.”

“Evolutionary biology,” Jerry Vanderhoef adds. “But you can’t really get up at the funeral of the church pastor’s daughter and say that the daughter rejected the teachings of the church, especially not in front of half of the church congregation. So I guess they said something they thought was more appropriate. Tailoring your speech to your audience and all that.”

“Sublimation,” Kingston says in a superior tone. “It’s a psychological defense mechanism where one revises undesirable traits into socially acceptable ones.”

“Sort of like how your first name is really William, but you go by your middle name because you think it sounds more important?” Jerry asks with an arched eyebrow.

“Shut up.” Kingston scowls at him.

“If Esther was planning on majoring in evolution, that makes me think she wasn’t as involved in the church as everyone thought she was,” Michael says speculatively.

“Pretty much.” Jerry sips his punch. “I’ve gone to church here with Esther my entire life. The only reason she was involved with church at all, other than that people expected it of her, was because she believed in the church's charity work.”

“Yeah, I noticed.” Michael nodded. “She helped out with a lot of other fundraisers, too, for school sports and clubs, even though she didn't have to. I don't know where she got the time. And every summer, she was going to work for some non-profit group.”

Jerry grimaced. “Last summer, she went to stay with some relatives in Canada and volunteered at a women's shelter up there. I don't know what happened or what she saw, but after that, Esther wasn't much of one to darken the doorway of a church. I guess it must have— I don’t know, it sounds too dramatic, but I think it traumatized her somehow, or something like that.”

“Did you know her well?” Kingston inquired.

For a moment, Jerry pauses to think. “I knew her better when we were both younger,” he says at last. “Like I said, my family has gone to this church forever, and the social aspect of it has always been really important to my parents, so they’ve tried to keep close with Pastor Kerioth and his family. But when Esther got older, she got pretty distant.”

“She struck me as that,” Michael comments. “Like, no doubt she was really nice and always tried to help people out, but she just seemed so . . . I don’t know, aloof, I guess.”

“You know what I just realized?” Jerry muses. “If my older brother had lived, they would have been the same age, he and Esther. But they both died very young. Strange to think about.”

* * *

 

Her black ensemble attracts the sun’s warm rays, and Karoline Raleigh eyes the blue sky dubiously as she makes her way along the path of the church memory garden. Though rain has been almost constant for the past several weeks, today, on the day of a funeral, the weather is bright and sunny. She can’t help but find it twistedly ironic.

The bricks beneath Karoline’s feet are inscribed with names, dedicated to the recognition of parishioners who have passed on. With a heavy heart, she realizes that in all likelihood, Esther will soon also have a brick with her name on it as well.

Turning the corner, she’s startled to find a familiar figure sitting on the bench.

“Oh,” Karoline says lamely. Instinctively, she reaches up a hand and fiddles a lock of ash blonde hair. “Hello, Richard.”

“Karoline. Hey.” For a moment Richard looks just as surprised to see her, but he quickly recovers. “Would you like to sit down?” He indicates the spot on the bench beside him.

“Oh, no, that’s okay.” Karoline waves a hand. “I couldn’t intrude.”

“I don’t mind,” Richard offers.

Concluding that the least awkward course of action would be to simply accept his invitation, Karoline relaxes slightly. “All right. If you’re sure.”

A silence commences the moment she sits down, and Karoline almost immediately regrets her decision.

“How are are you?” Richard asks her eventually.

“All right,” Karoline answers. Her mind frantically searches for a topic of conversation, and she lands on English class, which they both take on the AP level. “We just ended our unit on satire with Mrs. Leferve’s class. We read a bunch of Ben Franklin and a play called _Emerald City_ . Next week we’ll watch the movie in class, because Mrs. Lefevre will be out of town for a wedding for a few days.” Inwardly, Karoline cringes at her nervous prattle.

Richard doesn’t call her on her inane chitchat. “That’s cool. We’re still on Shakespeare. _Hamlet_ and _Macbeth_.”

“I always wondered why they didn’t give the two senior AP English classes to the same teacher,” Karoline comments.

“Too many papers to grade, probably,” Richards says with a grin.

“Right,” Karoline says with a smile, which quickly fades. “Esther was in my English class. I didn’t spend too much time with her, but she seemed, well, nice. Thoughtful. It’s going to be strange not to see her every morning, or to look over at her desk and realize it’s empty.”

“I didn’t know her well, either,” Richard replies. “Cain did, though. He’s finishing up at the cemetery right now. I’m waiting for him. He’s taking her death pretty hard.”

“Monica, too.” Karoline sighs. “I tried calling her a few times, but her phone just went to voicemail.”

“Looking for her out here?” Richard questions.

Karoline shakes her head. “I just wanted to get outside. I couldn’t take my parents back in there, glad-handing like they were. I mean, it’s a funeral, not some country club social.”

A moment too late, Karoline realizes her mistake of mentioning her parents and their society lifestyle. A very awkward silence commences.

She clears her throat. “Richard, look. I’m sorry about the way we broke up. It wasn’t right for me to treat you like that.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Richard abruptly stands.

Karoline rises as well. “Seriously. I’m sorry. The way they treated you was wrong, and the way I rolled over for them was wrong. But I want you to understand that this problem isn’t exactly something I can write to an advice column about.”

“Forget it.” Richard turns to walk away from her.

Wanting to at least establish her own feelings on the matter, Karoline doesn’t hold back. “I cared about you, Richard, I really did. But I couldn’t have my home turn into a warzone. I want to love my parents, and I want them to love me. That’s why I broke up with you. I don’t believe what my parents believe, but I couldn’t let you divide my family.”

“Yeah,” Richard says, uncommon bitterness seeping into his voice. “And in the meantime, I get to spend my life dealing with bigots like your parents.”

“That’s not what I’m—” Karoline begins, but Richard cuts her off.

“Look, I got to go find Cain,” he informs her, and walks away.

Regret and embarrassment searing every inch of her being, Karoline only watches him go.

* * *

 

With some hesitation, Ruthie Kettner steps forward to look at Esther’s memory board. She stands slightly to the side, not wanting to block anyone else’s view, and also not wanting put herself in a central position that will garner unnecessary attention.

“Hey, Ruthie.” Jaime Kenworthy comes up behind her, and Ruthie jumps at the unexpected sound.

“Sorry,” he says sheepishly.

“It’s all right,” Ruthie replies softly. “I know you didn’t mean anything, Jaime. How are you?”

“I’m all right,” Jaime says. “The history club has decided to extend our food drive because of the amount of donations we’ve received. It’s good to know some things turn out all right, even if others, um—” he glances guiltily at the photos of Esther. “—don’t,” he finishes feebly.

“That’s good,” Ruthie says kindly. “I know Esther was helping out with the food drive, too. I think it would have made her really happy to see that everyone was continuing to donate in spite of recent events.”

For a moment, the two of them only gaze at the photos of Esther.

“I’m really glad it was the church in general that bought the brick for Esther,” Jaime says, with a nod at the memory garden brick in the center of Esther’s display. “And not the Women’s Missionary Circle.”

“What’s wrong with the Circle?” Ruthie asks curiously.

“I heard some of the other people from Esther’s church talking,” Jaime says. “Anyway, it seems like Esther’s mother was president, and the Circle’s biggest time for events and fundraisers is in the spring.”

“I know.” Ruthie nods. “The logic is that people will be more generous with their donations because they’re happy winter is over.”

“But obviously, Mrs. Kerioth wasn’t feeling up to the job right now,” Jaime continues. “So she gave up her position and the projects she was working on, thinking it was only on a temporary basis.”

Ruthie’s eyes widen. “You mean it’s not?”

“Apparently, the new president who took over instituted a rule with the other club officers.” Jaime grimace. “The new rule says that any officer who vacates their position and gives up leadership of their personal charity projects can’t be reinstated as an officer.”  

“What?” Ruthie gasps. “That’s horrible! Mrs. Kerioth didn’t step down just for any reason— her daughter’s just died!”

“I know,” Jaime responds. “I think it’s downright horrible. Who would’ve expected a church group to be absolutely devoid of sympathy?”

“My mother’s in the Missionary Circle,” Ruthie realizes. “She’s the secretary, and  Mrs. Vanderhoef is the vice-president— though I guess now she’s officially the president. God, how awful of them.”

“I’m sorry about your mother,” Jaime offers. “I’d say I’m surprised your mom did something as callous as that, but you know. Given your mom, it’s not all that much of a shock.”

“Too true,” Ruthie agrees wearily.

* * *

 

Clutching the paper-wrapped package in her hands, Amy Morrisey starts forward to where Esther’s parents are sitting, but then she pauses. She tries again, only to divert to another direction. She looks at them, looks at the package in her hands, and then back again.

“You doing okay, Amy?” Tad Webster walks up to her with his hands in his pockets.

“Oh, hi, Tad.” Amy greets him with a smile. “I’m fine. Just struggling with indecision.” She indicates the package she’s holding.

“A gift for Mr. and Mrs. Kerioth?” Tad asks knowingly.

Amy nods. “It’s a sculpture I created and painted it in art class a while ago. It was returned to me last week, and I thought it would be a nice thing to give to them.”

“That’s thoughtful,” Tad tells her. “What’s the sculpture of?”

“A butterfly,” Amy says. “I thought it would work well as a gift for them, because of how a caterpillar goes into its cocoon and emerges as a different creature. Like an avatar of sorts for Esther. She’s gone now, but she’ll have a new life in heaven, once she’s with God.”

“That’s a really good way to think about it,” Tad says sincerely.

“Thanks. I thought so, too, at first. But now, I wonder if a gift like this might be insensitive,” Amy admits.

“I think it’s all right,” Tad says supportively. “Back in my freshmen year, when my parents died, I was just grateful for the help people offered me. I didn’t think to nitpick the gifts given to me or the way people tried to comfort me.”

“Oh, God, Tad, I’m so sorry.” Amy gasps. “I completely forgot that—”

“Don’t worry about it,” Tad says with a shrug. “Sometimes, it’s nice to just be another guy, and not be the kid with dead parents that everyone else has to pity.”

“Still.” Amy blushes. “Thank you for your kindness, Tad.”

Tad changes the subject. “Does your gift have a card, Amy?”

“Yep,” Amy affirms. “Addressed to the Kerioths and signed with my full name.”

Tad nods in the direction of the small table where Esther’s memory board stands. “Why don’t you just leave it at Esther’s memorial if you’re not comfortable with speaking to the Kerioths directly? That way, they’re sure to find it, but you don’t have to worry about mistakenly saying the wrong thing to them.”

“That’s a great idea.” Amy smiles in relief. “Thank you, Tad.”

Tad returns her smile. “Anytime, Amy.”

* * *

 

Contemplatively stirring a cup of tea, Elijah Maypenny stands on the porch of his woodland cabin and studies the slumped figure sitting on one of the split log benches by the fire pit. After attending his classmate’s funeral this morning, Daniel immediately began tackling the variety of usual chores with an uncommon fervor, and then proceeded to go above and beyond will every other type of extra task. Though Daniel has always been a hard worker, he now seems totally disinterested in anything else beyond his preserve duties.

Initially, Elijah was glad he was taking a moment to rest, but then Daniel skipped dinner to remain outside. Even now, as it’s growing dark, he seems unwilling to abandon his post.

However, although it’s Elijah’s opinion that Daniel can’t really afford to skip any more meals than he already does, he also knows Daniel’s been having a trying time of it lately. Given the boy’s background, of course death would affect him more than the average person.

So he leaves Daniel to his brooding, goes to the kitchen, keeps the kettle warming on the stove, and waits.

Just before nine, Daniel enters the house. The boy looks like death warmed over: face drawn, eyes ringed with shadows, and skin, its pallor usually already emphasized by the dark clothing he insists on wearing, now has developed a gray tinge.

Without even asking, Elijah immediately pours a cup of tea and places it before Daniel.

“Thank you,” Daniel says, wrapping his fingers around the mug without moving to actually take a sip.

“It won’t make up for missing dinner,” Elijah says disapprovingly. “You don’t eat enough as it is.”

“I’m sorry about not coming to the table,” Daniel says quietly. “But I wasn’t in the mood for conversation, and I wasn’t hungry.”

Elijah takes the seat across from Daniel. “Son,” he begins gently. “I know that right now is a difficult time for you and your classmates. I don’t expect you to be unaffected by the death of one of your friends.”

Dan runs a hand through his jet black hair. “That’s the worst part. I really didn’t know Esther well enough to be one of her friends. We talked in art class sometimes— but that’s it. And now I feel awful she’s gone.”

“It’s perfectly normal to feel that way,” Elijah says sympathetically.

“I don’t know.” Daniel looks up, but his eyes seem glazed and unfocused. “I don’t think I have any right to feel that way, not with her friends and family honestly mourning her. Not when they knew her so much better than I did.”

“You know what I think?” Elijah can’t suppress a surge of worry when he studies the depth of the dark shadows beneath Daniel’s eyes. “I think you need to give yourself a break, son. It’s a testament to your compassion that you can think of Esther’s family and friends, but don’t forget that you should be compassionate towards yourself, too.”

Daniel offers him a wan but genuine smile. “Sometimes, I think you’re much kinder to me than I ever could deserve, Elijah.”

“Nonsense.” As much as Elijah tries to keep his tone firm, hints of affection for his young charge seep into his voice. “You listen, and you understand me, son. Your uncle and I are here to help you whenever you need it. You hear?”

“I do.” Daniel rises, lifting his mug from the tabletop. “If you don’t mind, Elijah, I’ll just finish up washing the dishes and go to bed. I’m not feeling very well.”

“You don’t look very well,” Elijah tells him frankly. “I meant what I said, son. Grieving is fine. Punishing yourself is not.”

“I understand.” Daniel looks at him seriously, meeting his gaze without hesitation.

* * *

 

Once in his room, Dan closes the door quietly, then crosses the hardwood floor to the bookshelf, withdrawing Esther’s sketchbook from a haphazard stack of comic books. Idly, he flips through pages of sketches and poems, before abruptly stopping and glancing up at the ceiling, as though asking the forces above for guidance.

Be kind to himself. Right.

* * *

 

“Listen my friend,” said the shadow to the learned man; “now that I am as fortunate and as powerful as any man can be, I will do something unusually good for you. You shall live in my palace, drive with me in the royal carriage, and have a hundred thousand dollars a year; but you must allow every one to call you a shadow, and never venture to say that you have been a man. And once a year, when I sit in my balcony in the sunshine, you must lie at my feet as becomes a shadow to do; for I must tell you I am going to marry the princess, and our wedding will take place this evening.”

“Now, really, this is too ridiculous,” said the learned man. “I cannot, and will not, submit to such folly. It would be cheating the whole country, and the princess also. I will disclose everything, and say that I am the man, and that you are only a shadow dressed up in men’s clothes.”

“No one would beleive you,” said the shadow; “be reasonable, now, or I will call the guards.”

“I will go straight to the princess,” said the learned man.

“But I shall be there first,” replied the shadow, “and you will be sent to prison.” And so it turned out, for the guards readily obeyed him, as they knew he was going to marry the king’s daughter.

“You tremble,” said the princess, when the shadow appeared before her. “Has anything happened? You must not be ill to-day, for this evening our wedding will take place.”

“I have gone through the most terrible affair that could possibly happen,” said the shadow; “only imagine, my shadow has gone mad; I suppose such a poor, shallow brain, could not bear much; he fancies that he has become a real man, and that I am his shadow.”

“How very terrible,” cried the princess; “is he locked up?”

“Oh yes, certainly; for I fear he will never recover.”

“Poor shadow!” said the princess; “it is very unfortunate for him; it would really be a good deed to free him from his frail existence; and, indeed, when I think how often people take the part of the lower class against the higher, in these days, it would be policy to put him out of the way quietly.”

“It is certainly rather hard upon him, for he was a faithful servant,” said the shadow; and he pretended to sigh.

“Yours is a noble character,” said the princess, and bowed herself before him.

In the evening the whole town was illuminated, and cannons fired “boom,” and the soldiers presented arms. It was indeed a grand wedding. The princess and the shadow stepped out on the balcony to show themselves, and to receive one cheer more. But the learned man heard nothing of all these festivities, for he had already been executed.

                             — Hans Christian Andersen, “The Shadow” 

 

**Author's Note:**

>  **Written for**  
> [ **14 Jixanny CWP:** ](http://jixemitri.net/circle/projects/cwpanni14.html)  
>  \- A gemstone--bonus points if it's an emerald: Christopher’s cufflinks  
> \- A specially marked brick: Esther’s memorial brick  
> \- A Canadian charity (either by specific name or a general mention): The women’s shelter Esther worked at in Canada.  
> \- Someone being confused by something: Christopher being confused about why Zephyr has his cufflinks.  
> \- New rules being instituted: The new rules instituted by the Women’s Missionary Circle.  
> \- Someone speculating on what a dog is thinking: Nico guessing Chewie wants Sunny’s breakfast.  
> \- An avatar: The butterfly statue Amy makes for the Kerioths.  
> \- An advice column: Karoline can’t write to one.  
> \- An event being extended because of enthusiastic participation: The history club’s food drive.  
> \- The movie _Emerald City_ : Karoline’s class is going to watch it.


End file.
